


shout out to my eggs

by karasunonolibero



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Cooking Lessons, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:48:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22896730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karasunonolibero/pseuds/karasunonolibero
Summary: “Let me guess, he’s forcing you to learn how to cook because he caught you eating takeout for the fifth night in a row?”“Sixth night, and it was microwave yakisoba, actually.” Oikawa finds himself smiling, pleased—and almost a bit disgusted—at how easily the banter comes. Like they’ve been friends forever, and didn’t just meet on opposite sides of a volleyball court both intent on annihilating each other. But he supposes he could have been paired with worse people. “He wouldn’t teach me how to cook himself.”“At least Daichi tried with me.” Sugawara’s lips quirk up in a grin. “He changed his mind very quickly after I set the sprinklers off on the entire floor. Oops?”~or, Oikawa and Suga are terrible cooks.
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 16
Kudos: 118





	shout out to my eggs

**Author's Note:**

> ahh this was meant to be finished by valentine's day but hey, better late than never, right? every so often i need to write chaos to remind myself where my fic roots are, so here's the latest disaster. 
> 
> please sing the title to the tune of shout out to my ex by little mix

It started when Iwaizumi walked into their shared apartment to see Oikawa eating microwave yakisoba for the sixth night in a row.

“Do you even _know_ how to use the stove?” he’d said, marching up to Oikawa and snatching the plastic container out from under his chopsticks. “This shit’s terrible for you.”

“But it’s cheap and we’re poor college students,” Oikawa protests, reaching for his sodium-filled dinner.

“You need to learn how to cook.” Iwaizumi holds it out of his reach.

“Then teach me!”

“Fuck, no.”

So that’s how Oikawa finds himself letting himself into a restaurant with a long Italian name on a Thursday evening with a carton of eggs under his arm, grumbling as he makes his way to the door in the back labeled ‘Classes.’ Apparently, he’s late, as evidenced by the way everyone turns to look at him as he enters.

“Oh, good, you made it,” says the man standing at the front of the room. He’s dressed in a white chef’s jacket with two columns of buttons, and even has a chef’s hat on. Oikawa didn’t think people actually _wore_ those in real life. “Sugawara-san, you won’t be alone after all!”

Sugawara. Why does that name sound familiar? Oikawa slips between the prep tables, all of which are occupied by pairs, until he finds the only one with a single person. The man smiles at him, tucks a lock of silver hair behind his ear, and says, “We meet again, Oikawa.”

And then, in a flash, it comes back to him.

“You’re that setter from Karasuno!” he blurts out. “Refreshing-kun!”

“You two have plenty of time to get reacquainted later,” the instructor interrupts. “Now, as I was saying, today we’ll be making Italian pasta from scratch. It’s simple to make, but achieving the correct thickness and shape is where it can get tricky…”

As the chef drones on, Oikawa plunks the carton of eggs on the counter. Sugawara stares at it. “Why did you bring eggs?”

“Iwa-chan told me to come prepared!”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what he meant.” Sugawara hands him an apron. “Put this on.”

Oikawa pouts as he slips the apron over his head. “Iwa-chan didn’t tell me _anything_.”

Sugawara laughs at that, the sound light and genuine. “Let me guess, he’s forcing you to learn how to cook because he caught you eating takeout for the fifth night in a row?”

“Sixth night, and it was microwave yakisoba, actually.” Oikawa finds himself smiling, pleased—and almost a bit disgusted—at how easily the banter comes. Like they’ve been friends forever, and didn’t just meet on opposite sides of a volleyball court both intent on annihilating each other. But he supposes he could have been paired with worse people. “He wouldn’t teach me how to cook himself.”

“At least Daichi tried with me.” Sugawara’s lips quirk up in a grin. “He changed his mind very quickly after I set the sprinklers off on the entire floor. Oops?”

It’s at this moment that Oikawa realizes they’ve completely tuned out the instructor, and now everyone around them is starting to open the pre-measured bags of flour on their stations. Shit, Oikawa hasn’t even _looked_ at his station yet. It reminds him a bit of the tables in his high school chemistry lab, with a sink built into the right side. Ingredients, already measured out, sit in bags and glass jars in front of them. Oh, this’ll be a piece of cake. Except for the weird metal contraption that Oikawa has no clue how to identify, let alone use.

Fortunately, the instructor stops by their table before Oikawa has to figure out how to politely say he hasn’t been paying an ounce of attention.

“You two can double the ingredients and each make a serving for yourselves,” he tells them. “Many of our pairs are couples, so they’ll be sharing it anyway, but it’s up to you.”

Sugawara smiles. “Thank you! So if I double everything, that makes…”

“Four cups of flour,” the instructor supplies. “I’ll get you more ingredients.”

Oikawa lets out a breath as the instructor walks away. “Tricky, Refreshing-kun.”

“You can just call me Suga, you know. It’s weird when you call me that off the court,” Sugawara—Suga—tells him. Once they’ve gotten their extra ingredients, Oikawa sets to work dumping the flour into the bowl and adding two teaspoons of salt.

“This isn’t so bad,” he says cheerily, whisking the ingredients together until the instructor tells them to add the eggs.

As though on cue, the instructor says, “Good job, that was the easy part. Now, I want you to make a well in the mixture to crack the eggs into.”

“A what?” Oikawa mumbles. Suga rolls his eyes and sticks his hands into the bowl, pushing the flour and salt aside to form a hole in the middle. Oikawa pretends he doesn’t see the slight poke of his tongue as he focuses. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Suga dusts the flour off his hands as they’re told to crack three eggs. “So six.”

“ _Six_ eggs?”

“Three doubled is six.”

“I know basic addition!”

“Then why do you sound so surprised?” Suga grins at him and cracks an egg into the bowl single-handedly. Oikawa has to fight not to appear visibly impressed. Instead, he just huffs and grabs an egg to do the exact same thing. Except he’s never tried to crack an egg single-handedly, and ends up just smashing the shell into the side of the bowl.

“Oops,” he mutters, staring at the yolk running down his hand and pooling on the table next to the bowl.

Suga lets out an ungraceful snort and tosses a towel at his face. “Hey, at least I can crack an egg.”

“Normal people can’t crack eggs with one hand!”

“I’m not normal?” Suga arches an eyebrow.

“No!” Oikawa huffs, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the heat rising to his cheeks. He grabs another egg and cracks it—with two hands, this time—into the bowl. They take turns, cracking eggs one at a time until the yolks are floating in the well Suga made, and then they’re told to start whisking the eggs.

“It’s like a bowl within a bowl,” Oikawa comments, grabbing a whisk and starting to mix everything together.

“No!” Suga’s hand darts out to grab his wrist in a surprisingly strong hold. “Not the flour, not yet.”

“Excuse me?”

“Weren’t you listening?” Suga hisses. “He said we whisk the eggs, and then _slowly_ start to fold in the dry flour.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I don’t know, but it’s not what the instructor told us to do.”

Oikawa frowns at the eggs. He’s still not sure the speed with which he adds the flour is really going to matter in the end; it’s all going in the same mixture, right?

Suga sighs again and reaches for the whisk. “Let me try.”

“No, I have it under control!” Oikawa insists, yanking the bowl away.

Suga rolls his eyes. “If our pasta comes out horrible, this is your fault.”

While he whisks, Oikawa risks glancing around at the other stations. Everyone else is whispering and giggling and being all kissy-kissy romantic—and then there’s him and Suga. Oikawa makes a face and whisks harder.

The dough begins to form as he whisks the flour into the eggs, and before long it’s so thick it’s getting stuck in the wire loops. The instructor does mention that they can add one or two tablespoons of water if the mixture is too dry, so that’s exactly what Oikawa does. That’s when Suga pokes his head over from whatever he’s doing. “How’s it looking?”

Oikawa scrunches his mouth to one side, peering into the bowl. “I think our eggs were too small.”

“What the hell does that mean? It doesn’t matter how big the eggs are! You put in six, right?” 

“We both did! We counted!”

“He said you can add water.”

“I did, but I don’t think it’s wet enough!” Still, Oikawa adds a third tablespoon. Then a fourth, for good measure. “What did we do wrong? I’m adding another egg.”

“Why would you add another egg?”

“Because the water’s not working!”

“That’ll mess it up!”

“We already messed it up! We can’t possibly make it worse!”

“That’s not how it works!”

“Wow, I didn’t know Refreshing-kun was a pasta master,” Oikawa mutters.

“I said not to call me that!”

“Well, it’s a good thing I brought extra eggs, then!”

“Stop adding eggs!”

Oikawa looks him straight in the eye as he cracks another egg into the bowl. Suga huffs and bangs his head on the table. “And Iwa-chan calls _me_ dramatic,” Oikawa mutters, whisking the seventh egg into the dough. He realizes within a few seconds that the extra egg was definitely unnecessary; now the dough is more of a weird lumpy slush, which they’re somehow supposed to be able to put through the pasta maker.

“I wonder if we could have just added half an egg.”

“That’s not how eggs work, Oikawa.” Suga wipes his hands off on his apron with a sigh.

“You could help instead of standing there judging me, you know.”

“No, no, you seem to know what you’re doing. Grand King of the kitchen.”

Oikawa hears something click in his neck when he jerks his head up to glare at Suga, who has the nerve to smile serenely at him. Mr. Refreshing, _his ass_. “Do something!”

“Excuse me.”

Oikawa turns to the other side to see the instructor frowning at both of them. “Some of the other students in the class have complained that you are being too disruptive. I’ll need you two to lower your voices.”

Oikawa points at Suga with a pout. “He’s not helping!”

“I did help! You didn’t want my help!”

“You—”

The chef presses his lips into a thin line. “All right. That’s enough. I’ll have to ask you to leave before I get any more complaints.”

And before Oikawa knows it, he’s out on the sidewalk with his coat—and carton of eggs—in his hands. And no pasta. Gods, if Iwaizumi finds out about this, he’s going to headbutt him so hard Oikawa’ll be seeing double for a week.

Suga pokes him in the chest, looking equally crabby at this turn of events. “This is your fault!”

“Mine? I’m the one who tried to fix it!”

“If you’d just asked the instructor for help, you wouldn’t have needed to do all that shit to fix it! You owe me pasta, now.” Suga crosses his arms, then pulls his scarf up over his mouth and shivers. Ugh, he’s cute even when he’s mad at Oikawa. Which Oikawa _still_ doesn’t think is justified, but the more he watches Suga huff out clouds of breath, the less he finds he really cares.

“Are you cold?”

“No,” Suga mutters, shoulders trembling as a gust of wind howls down the street.

Oikawa rolls his eyes and takes off his own scarf. “Take it.”

Suga glares at it distrustfully. “You’ll need that.”

“Then I’ll just walk you home.”

“You’re not coming inside.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Suga stares at him for a second longer before accepting the scarf and wrapping it around his neck, covering his pink nose and cheeks. “Thanks,” he mutters, voice muffled by the layers of fabric.

“Don’t mind.”

They fall into step together, hands shoved deep into pockets and heads ducked against winter’s chill. Fortunately, Suga doesn’t live far—just fifteen minutes later, he’s pointing down a narrow one-way street and telling Oikawa they’re here. Like the gentleman he is, Oikawa walks him to his door, waiting until Suga’s stepped into the warmth of his apartment. Suga unwinds the scarf from around his neck and hands it back with a very small smile.

“I’m still kind of mad you got us kicked out.”

“I know.”

“You’ll have to make it up to me, then.” Suga’s grin grows. “Let’s go back there for dinner for real. Let them make the pasta for us.”

Oikawa finds himself grinning, too. “It’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, thank you for reading! come visit me on [tumblr](http://karasunonolibero.tumblr.com), if you feel so inclined x


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